


strawberry

by Lovedinsecret



Series: Come As You Are [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, steve helping billy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:48:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23914822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovedinsecret/pseuds/Lovedinsecret
Summary: Billy agrees to go to the Fourth of July carnival because he figures it's been long enough that it shouldn't be an issue. The sounds of the fireworks dredge up some bad memories and Steve is there to help.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Come As You Are [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732933
Comments: 9
Kudos: 112





	strawberry

**Author's Note:**

> another prompt thing given to me. Strawberry, carnival, and "I saved you a seat."

The engine purrs as Billy pulls the rebuilt Camaro into a parking spot, or what classifies as a parking spot in Hawkins, which means a grassy field. He fervently hopes he won’t get stuck in the mud later, he has enough on his mind without having to worry about how he is going to get his baby out of that kind of sticky situation. He takes a deep breath as he kills the engine. Everything would be fine. Which is just what he told Steve when Max had suggested this insane idea.

It had been five years since that god awful summer and so much has happened since. Everything is fine now, or at least what classifies as fine these days. He has absolutely nothing to worry about.

The scent of fried food and spun sugar floats on the warm breeze as Billy exits the Camaro and make his way over to the Ferris Wheel. Steve would already be there, mothering teenagers far too old for that kind of thing now. Not that Billy would ever dream of saying so. He knows why Steve does it, he knows why the kids allow it. And hell, someone should fucking be paying attention to them. Even with close eyes on them, there have been mistakes.

Dustin has a scar going from his knee to his hip because he’d had a nightmare about the tunnels and tore ass across town in the dead of night without telling anyone. Dipshit finally decided that _after_ he’d fallen down the hole was a good time to put that radio to use. Then of course there was Max’s pregnancy scare a few months ago. If the Upside Down couldn’t put him in an early grave, these kids were damn sure trying. But Steve is good in a crisis. It’s where he shines. Then again, Billy is of the opinion that Steve Harrington shines all the time, even with the worst case of bed head and morning breath, or the time he caught a stomach bug and threw up into a trash can because he was too sick to make it to the bathroom. Billy is biased and he doesn’t give a shit.

“Yes, _moooom_.” Mike snarks, rolling his eyes, but straightening as soon as he sees Billy walking up behind Steve.

“Shut up, shit head.” Steve responds, flipping off the newly graduated teen in perhaps the most unmom behavior Steve possesses.

“Better not let Karen see you.” Billy purrs, coming up behind Steve and resting his hands on his shoulders. “She’s always looking for an excuse to blame Mike’s language on someone.”

“Billy, you made it.” Steve brightens as he twists in his arms. Thoughts of difficult teenagers clearly drifting out of his mind the longer he gazes at Billy. “Come sit. I saved you a seat.”

“Dweebs giving you problems?”

“Nah. Just the usual attitude.” Steve grins and they share the kind of look they usually do when they want to kiss but they are in public.

It’s Hawkins and now it’s the nineties. Steve’s pretty sure that most everyone knows, they just don’t like it shoved in their faces. It’s not exactly _fair_ , but it could be worse. They could live in a town full of assholes like Neil. But they don’t. The Harrington name has clout, and Billy is a town hero after saving children in a crazy mall fire, or whatever the papers printed about Starcourt’s demise. They usually can get away with hand holding, but Billy gets all stiff when it comes to more than that. For all of his ‘talk shit, get hit’ attitude in high school, he doesn’t _relish_ the thought of fighting the town. He will, especially for Steve, he just doesn’t…want to. Maybe it’s a thing about getting older. Or maybe it’s because after Neil left, a lot of his anger went with him. Maybe it’s the amount of therapy he’s been in since Starcourt. Who’s to say. Still, Steve’s hand slides up his thigh, until he can reach out with his pinkie and poke at Billy, so that Billy intertwines pinkies with him. Because that’s how soft they are now.

They chill there for an hour or so, interrupted every so often by the kids wanting more cash out of Steve, who gives it freely, or El wanting to show off the goldfish that she won. She names it Pepper after the Dr. Pepper bottles they use for the ring toss game she won it at, and leaves it with Billy before both Max and Mike tug her away for some other activity. It’s nice amidst the chaos of the night, the neon lights and the crowd. It doesn’t feel claustrophobic the way Billy had feared it might. That is until it happens.

The first firework soars up into the sky with a sizzling screech announcing it’s assent, before it explodes in a whirl of color, followed by a boom that Billy can feel in his chest. He takes one gulping breath and then two before his hand clamps down on Steve’s in a vice grip. It’s been four years but that _sound_ , that _feeling_ still… He can smell the scent of chlorine and ammonia, of putrid rot. It’s caught in his nose. Can hear echoes of that awful voice in his head telling him to _build._

“Billy?” Steve whispered, but then is immediately down on his knees in front of him, slender fingers pressing in on either side of his face to force Billy’s head in place for what he wants. “Look at me Billy. That’s it baby, just at me. It’s 1990, the Gate has been closed, we live in a small apartment off of Briar Lane. You work at Sheffield’s garage.” He starts listing off things that Dr. Owens told him would help pull Billy back but he can see with each thundering boom of pyrotechnics, that it isn’t going to work like all the other times. It’s becoming a tug of war with Billy in the middle.

“Baby.” He says finally, pressing up so that his forehead is against Billy’s trembling one. “Let’s get out of here. Let me take you home.”

And so that’s what Steve does. Because Steve Harrington is good in a crisis, even if that crisis is just one of your own mind’s making. He doesn’t even stop to tell the kids where they are going, but they are smart kids who know the date and the risk that Billy took coming out tonight. They will put two and two together. And if not, Steve will deal with the minor melt down later. What is important is getting Billy to a place where he feels safe.

Billy only moves with Steve urging him on, but he still goes. And though Steve wasn’t there when he parked, Steve spots the Camaro’s metallic blue glint from under a sodium lamp. He doesn’t even ask for the keys, just fishes in Billy’s pocket for them and then tugs him to the passenger side, tucking him in and doing his seatbelt for him.

“Billy, baby, you gotta breathe for me. I’ll drive you home and we can blare Metallica so loud your ears bleed, but you need to take four count breaths, okay?” Steve says, kneeling in the grass. Billy doesn’t so much respond as his jaw ticks and he takes a stuttering breath that he taps out four beats on his thigh with his thumb, so Steve knows he listened. “That’s it, Tiger.”

Out of the two of them, Billy is most definitely the one considered a reckless driver. He knows what he’s doing, but he’s a speed demon and he never signals. Steve usually defaults to obeying the traffic laws and being cautious. That is, unless there’s a problem. A crisis. The engine growls and roars under his ministrations and Steve peels out of the parking lot, kicking up a cloud of dirt behind him as the Camaro fishtails. The drive to their apartment should take about fifteen minutes the way Steve normally drives. He makes it in seven. If Billy were in a state of mind to absorb this information, he’d probably cheer, as it is, he’s got his eyes closed and is listening to _Welcome Home_ while concentrating on his breaths like Steve told him to, while also trying to ignore every memory that is cycling through his mind. He doesn’t mean to flinch when Steve reaches out for him, but the thing is he’s got his eyes closed and he’s not _expecting it._

“Shh, baby, we’re home.” Steve soothes, not taking it personally at all that Billy is jumpy. When caught in the throws of it all, Billy vacillates between not wanting to be touched to needing Steve to plaster himself to him to remind him that he’s not the monster. It’s something Billy hates, those two extremes and the fact that Steve has to be the one to read him and adapt, that Billy can’t just _tell_ him, or that he can’t just be _normal._ It’s been years since Starcourt, but those scars remain. The thing is, it has never bothered Steve to be the one who can read Billy. He _wants_ to. Just like when Steve has a nightmare, or hears someone speaking in Russian, that Billy is there to do the same for him.

“So, um, I was thinking that maybe we could make something? Does that sound nice? I mean, I’m kind of hungry, you know? Cake sounds nice. Strawberry cake. Mrs. Henderson gave me that recipe of hers that you loved so much.” Steve babbles as Billy stands stock still in the kitchen, hands frozen into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. The thing is they both know what’s happening here. When Billy gets in a bad way, he gets locked up. Dr. Owens explained that small task-oriented jobs are the easiest way to draw him out it. Something about the way the different parts of the mind are at work during PTSD episodes and how to regulate. Neither boy really understands why it works, just that it does. Therefore, Steve isn’t requiring an answer, he just is filling the silence. Silence is where the memories of the monster can breathe, and Steve is a monster hunter. He doesn’t allow it to have more of a grip on Billy than it already does. So he sings as he pulls ingredients out of the pantry, as he gathers the mixing bowls and the cake pan. He hands Billy the measuring cups and sifter and points to the recipe. “Three cups please. She said to sift _everything_ so that it’s light and fluffy.”

With the two of them working on the directions it takes about fifteen minutes to have the pink batter ready in the cake pan, and by then Billy is not as locked up as he was. Steve can tell by the way he exhales in a slow sigh and sort of slumps a little.

“I can’t wait until this is out of the oven, can you? I’m starving.” Steve hums, shoving it into the oven and setting the timer.

“I’m sorry.” Billy says, and when Steve turns around, he can see tears clinging to Billy’s lashes. He frowns and tucks in close.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Tiger. Nothing at all. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than in this kitchen with you.” Steve murmurs against his neck, wrapping his arms tight around Billy.

“It was supposed to be a fun night.” Billy murmurs.

Steve pulls back and looks at him through narrowed eyes. “Are you saying baking with me is not an enjoyable way to spend your evening?”

“You fucking know what I mean.”

“I know, and shit happens Tiger.” He shrugs his shoulders and then drags a thumb across Billy’s cheekbone where he had managed to get a streak of flour. “You know I’m not bothered by it as long as you are okay. That’s all that matters to me.”

“I just…” Billy groans, tucking his face back into Steve’s neck. “It’s been four years and it doesn’t seem to get any easier.”

Steve drags his nails over Billy’s back, feeling the material bunch under his fingertips. “You don’t remember the first year very well, do you? You wouldn’t leave the house unless you were stuck to my side, and even then, you were a mess.”

“Max…”

“Yeah, she helped, El too, Robin, all the kids.” Steve nods, acknowledging that he’s not a one person miracle for Billy. That the one thing Billy has learned in full is that family actually means something, and he has one.

“I miss it when I wasn’t so fucked up.” And Steve would say that Billy was full on pouting, but never to his face.

“Do you miss me when I wasn’t so fucked up?” Steve asks, because Billy is trying to spiral as hard as he can, and just, no. “Was it a burden last November when we were watching Rocky VI and I freaked out?”

“What?” Billy looks jarred by the change in direction of the conversation. “No. Not at all, Bambi, you know that.”

“But it’s like your favorite movie, and I just can’t deal with it.” And it’s true. Ivan started talking and suddenly Steve couldn’t breathe and he felt like he was underwater. He was back there under Starcourt with that Russian general refusing to believe he worked at Scoops Ahoy, getting the shit kicked out of him and sure he was going to die. Billy was on top of it, turned the movie off and dragged Steve outside, had him do jumping jacks until the panic wore off and then later read to him while Steve was tucked into his lap.

“First off Rocky VI isn’t my favorite movie and you know that, second off there’s no way in fuck that a movie would ever, _could ever_ , be more important than your comfort.” Billy says vehemently, a little of that old fire catching in his voice and flaring in his eyes.

Steve smirks like he’s won something, and he has. He leans in and kisses Billy right on the tip of his nose. “Good.”

He leads Billy out to the living room and spreads him out on the couch, laying down with him and tucking in close, running a hand up and down the ladder of his ribs. They cuddle there, Billy dozing in the comfort of his arms, exhausted after the adrenaline has left his system, until the timer in the kitchen buzzes to tell them that the cake is ready. Steve detaches himself and pulls it out, spreading the icing over the top so that it will melt and make a glaze, as per Mrs. Henderson’s penned instructions, and sets another timer to give it enough time to cool before he goes back and tucks up against Billy again.

The next time the timer goes off, Billy rouses, a small smile playing on his lips as he nudges Steve off of the couch so that they can go feast on cake. They do so, sitting on top of the kitchen counter like teenagers, eating it out of the tin with forks and no plates. Mrs. Henderson would have a fit, as would Steve’s own mother, but neither of them care. This, Billy thinks, is how he wanted the night to end, knee to knee with Steve, eating delicious cake straight out of the pan, and feeling so loved that he could burst.


End file.
